What to Do?
by Natalie Teeger
Summary: Spike is in trouble concerning a bomb, and it's up to Team One to help him. I take back what I said earlier. I figured out a kinda solution! But I don't really know bombs, so it'll be weird and probably wouldn't work in real life. Also, by now Jules would 9 months pregnant and not doing police work. Oh, well. Just roll with it. Pretend she isn't or something.
1. Chapter 1

_What to Do?_

_Jasmine Jacobs_

**_Chapter One_**

**_6 months before 'one year later' in 'Keep the Peace: Part 2'_**

**_Wednesday-1.00p.m.-SRU Main Office_**

"Where's Spike?"

"Huh?" Sergeant Gregory Parker looked up bleary-eyed from the piles of paper that stacked up in front of him. He had had a cold recently, and now he was paying for it with a _lot_ of paperwork. All of this he had to do before he went to supervise Team One's training. "Didn't he check in late?"

Jules shook her head. "Sorry, boss. Winnie says she hasn't seen him since this morning, when he told her to go ahead. He told her that he would catch up to her, but so far he hasn't kept his promise. She's really worried. He's not answering his cell and he hasn't called."

Greg's phone buzzed.

His smile reassured her in a second. "Speak of the devil." He touched the screen and held the device to his ear. "Hey, Spike, buddy, where are you-?"

His smile faltered. Seeing his expression, Jules immediately felt a sense of dread.

"This is Sergeant Gregory Parker; I'm with the SRU, the Strategic Response Unit. With whom am I speaking with?"

Jules felt a slight shiver down her arm and she felt her goose bumps rise on her arms. Someone had Spike? Again? Not good. After what happened with David, Sam's sister's ex-boyfriend, she really didn't think he needed a repeat.

"I see. And how did you get your hands on my pal?" Greg's eyes narrowed. Jules swallowed hard. Sarge will fix this, she thought. With Team One's help. She forced her fingers to be still.

"Uh-huh," Greg murmured thoughtfully. "So you thought that-" he cut off, listening to the other end.

He listened for a moment before half-answering again.

"Yes, but-" then, "I see. So why-?"

He was interrupted once more by the mysterious caller.

"Okay. Okay. Can-can I talk to my buddy, please? I'd really like to know how he's doing, you know." Greg suggested. He winced once and spoke again, this time, to Jules relief, to Spike.

"Hey, Spike, what-?" he paused to put the phone on speaker. Winnie joined Jules by the edge of the table, leaning over, an extremely worried look on her face.

"Spike?" she blurted out, unable to restrain herself. "Spike, are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"Umm…" came the short reply.

"Spike?" she pressed closer to the phone.

"I'm…fine. I'm just in a…predicament, that's all." Spike drew a deep breath and continued to a hushed whisper.

"Boss, I need help. This bomb, it's really complicated and I can't figure out how to get out alive-" His voice broke off as Greg turned off the speaker held the phone tightly to his ear and gestured to Jules and Winnie to leave. They moved to the door.

"Yeah?" Greg's eyebrows scrunched together in worry. "Uh-huh. Yes. Yeah. Mhhh-hmm. Yeah-"his face went pale and his expression froze, except for his widening eyes.

He swallowed hard and turned to Jules and Winnie, who were standing anxiously nearby, his expression deadly serious.

"Guys," he said slowly, rising out of his chair and crossing the room over to them. "Get your gear.

"Spike is strapped to bomb," he announced grimly, striding past them.

"When he breathes, the timer runs.

"He'll be dead in less than an hour."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

**Spike's House**

**Quote: **

_Spike: What's that thing? _

_Wordy: yeah, yeah, that long metal thing. _

_Ed: Loud noises…_

_Spike: Gun! See? So why do we need to re-qualify?_

He was so tired. He told Winnie to go to work without him and that he'd be along soon, when he was fully awake. So far, that wasn't happening.

The coffee was too bland and too hot. The eggs were too runny and too burnt. The bacon decided not to cook that day. He briefly considered using a blowtorch again, just to get Team One to come pick him up, but decided against it. He didn't want the neighbors freaking out again, not with this headache.

He, the great and powerful Michealangelo Scarlotti, felt like crap.

He didn't want to go to work, his breakfast sat unsettled at the bottom of his stomach, his head hurt like nothing else, and he was really starting to hate that stupid Ocean Frebreeze Winnie set up in every single, stupid room.

He hated alcohol and he never wanted to see it or touch it ever again.

But deep in his heart, he knew the alcohol wasn't to blame. It was the reason he'd had it in the first place.

Work, Lou, home, Lou, his mom, his dad, Lou, work and Lou. The list went on from there.

He slouched on the couch in a button-up shirt and clean-ish slacks, watching the news, every once in a while changing the channel. All in all, it just made his head hurt even worse and his mood became irritated. When a knock came on the door, he didn't bother getting up to answer.

"Go away!" he shouted. "I'm trying to wallow in self-pity!" he slouched down further, turning the TV off, and was starting to close his eyes when the doorbell rang.

Unfortunately, it not only rang, but it also buzzed, boomed, banged and whistled in his head.

Yelling with his hands over his ears, he got up and yanked the door open.

"I am not-!" was as far as he got before his head got a new ache.

That happens sometimes, especially when it's the butt of a gun to your head at full force.

Spike was regretting almost every last thing that happened that morning, starting with not going to work.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Quote: 'When destiny speaks, I don't ask questions.'_

Sarge tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. Jules sat beside him with a grim expression on her face.

"Okay, so Spike was able to give us sounds he heard around him, which we deduced to be somewhere around Mulberry Street," he told the team. "Your thoughts?"

Sam, driving the vehicle behind Greg, chuckled lightly. "To think that it happened on Mulberry Street."

Ed raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it, 'To think that I saw it on Mulberry Street?"

"I know that," Sam snapped irritably.

Ed smiled. "Just checking."

Leah hooked herself to Winnie's line. "Can you tell us anything about Spike's behavior last night or this morning?"

Winnie's worried tone crackled in her ear. "Um, he was pretty stressed out, you know, then being the anniversary of Lou's death and all."

Greg groaned. Ed sighed. Of course. They'd forgotten.

"Um, he was…really drunk, and he was crying and yelling, so I made him go to bed early. When I got there later, he was sound asleep."

"Okay," Leah urged. "What about this morning?"

"Much better," Winnie assured them. "I mean, he was bloodshot and he looked extremely tired, but he was defiantly better."

"Can you give me one word to describe him before you left?" Ed prompted.

"Grumpy. "

Greg nodded. "Okay. Here's Mulberry Street. Here's Spike."

**Sorry, guys, I know you were expecting more, but I lost my notebook with the story in it, and I still can't find it. So, I did this chapter by memory, so I'm afraid most of it is left out and not as long or satisfying as it should be. Sorry. ;( **


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

* * *

**Still haven't found the notebook. Sorry. I have no idea what I did next, so I'm improvising. Sorry again if it's not what you were hoping and dreaming of.**

* * *

The air was split with cries of "SRU!" "On the ground! Get on the ground! Hands on your heads!" before Greg shouted, "Stop!"

The team backed off and the terrified couple rose uncertainty.

"Sorry," Greg apologized. "Wrong house."

The man was still bug-eyed, but the wife laughed it off.

"Oh, it's fine. Can we help you get the right house?" she offered, amusement sparkling in her eyes.

Greg nodded. "Do you know anyone in this neighborhood or the next that is moody, angry, taking drugs, or owns a firearm and likes to use it?"

The woman nodded. "As a matter of fact, there is one such person with all of those issues. His name is," she broke off, trying to remember. Then her face cleared and she spoke again. "Oh, yes. His name was Arthur Pendragon. He moved down the road into 123 a few months ago. Isn't that right, dear?" she turned to her husband, who nodded.

"That's right," he agreed. "He keeps to himself and gets upset about the smallest things. Like, once, one of the neighbor's sons was playing outside and he tread on the rim of the lawn. Arthur tore out of the house and started screaming at him."

His wife nodded. "We're all terrified of him."

Greg nodded. "Thanks, you two you've been a great help."

"Oh, anytime," said the wife cheerfully. "Would you like some chocolate chip cookies before you go on with your police work?" she winked, standing up and crossing the room to the kitchen. "Fresh out of the oven," she sang.

Sam made very big puppy eyes at Greg. Ed and Jules pretended not to care, but it was obvious they wanted to do as Sam did.

"Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt…" Greg said slowly.

Sam cheered and went after the woman. Ed rubbed his hands together and followed suit.

Jules smiled and dragged Greg into the kitchen with her.

**_Not very long, but I'm trying! next chapter will probably be from Spike's POV. ;)_**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_Guess what I found? My notebook! Okay, so my brother found it. But it's here in my hands and I'm typing from it. _

Quote: **It's like this big.** **(holds hands almost two feet apart****_.)_**_ Wow, a sword._ **Ok, Ok, maybe more like this. (about one foot****_.)_**_ So a machete?_ **Yeah, yeah!** Donna? It was this big. (about three inches.)**This big, what are you talking about this big? (about three inches.)** I'm just saying…**You can't do this to a guy, ever!**

Spike could swear there were a dozen or so tiny, pink and purple bunnies hopping over his shoe. Then again, one had orange eyes and another was polka dotted blue, so maybe not.

He groaned and got hit on the side of the head for it.

"Quiet," a voice ordered.

Spike closed his mouth and fully opened his eyes.

No bunnies. Just a couple… thousand…wires.

Aww…crap.

Adjusting his position, he cast a long glance around the small cramped room he was held captive in.

It was empty except for two chairs and a table, all bolted down.

Spike sat handcuffed and shackled to one chair, and a middle-aged man with heavily tattooed arms sat in the other, smoking a large, very smelly cigar.

The table was next to Spike and that was the problem.

What was on it, not the table itself.

A bomb.

It had a timer, a box, a code, one, two, three…nine, ten…fourteen…sixteen…twenty-eight…forty-two…

And forty-seven cords of various sizes and colours.

There were about eighteen attached to him, fourteen or fifteen attached to three vials of explosives, and thirteen-ish attached the code and timer to the rigging.

The timer was already counting down, its numbers gleaming red as if to remind him of the incoming danger.

43:31, it read, the one quickly turning into a zero. Spike groaned. This would take hours, which he didn't have-

The back of his head throbbed where the man had hit him again. He'd been so absorbed with the bomb that he hadn't noticed the man get up and cross the room.

"I said, quiet," he rasped, wedging the cigar into his mouth again.

"So," he leaned on the back of the chair on his arm. "You're awake."

Spike didn't respond.

"I hear you're good with bombs," he continued casually.

Spike nodded slowly.

"Well, then, this one shouldn't be a problem."

Spike remained silent.

"Trying to figure it out?" the man laughed. "Good luck with that. Not even you have any chance of survival."

Spike held his breath. Sniper breathing. Hold one, two, three, four, release…

He was right. It stopped. The timer stopped. Or, at least, it slowed down.

He was filled with dread and he shivered.

His pulse.

The timer was attached to his pulse.

He would die.

You know, eventually.

**Okay, I know you guys already know it, and it's not as much of a surprise, but think about poor Spike! He didn't know, so yes, it was a good chapter ending for him, so, sorry. ****J**


End file.
